


the bittersweet between my teeth

by chylan



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Drama, M/M, Multi, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chylan/pseuds/chylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After trailing after Church for so long, Tucker doesn't know how to move on. It doesn't help that his friends are acting distant, either. It seems like everyone is in on something bad, and he was going to find out what. It's not as easy as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> my first rvb fic ever and i did a thing i tried the thing, i apologize for any possible out of character-ness i’m still learnin’ the shindig, the ropes, ya know. this part serves a type of a prologue, but i imagine there being lots of parts in the future. enjoy!!

“Look, all I'm saying is that you could use the exercise,” Wash said, leaning forward slightly on the back of the couch. Tucker barely spared him a glance and continued flipping channels from where he was laying down, expression growing more and more frustrated when he couldn't find anything to watch.

"I'm not gonna do  _anything_ after the night I just had," he snorted, eventually letting the remote drop from his hand onto the carpet where it bounced off to god knows where. Adjusting his grease stained sweatpants and off white t-shirt, he buried his head further into the pillow he was holding. "However, I'll tell ya what -- call up one of those hookers from the list of numbers I collected and go have some fun." 

Wash merely stared at him with a blank look, lips drawn in a line that showed that he was really getting tired of this conversation.

"You wrote down all of those numbers yourself and they spelled out 'go fuck yourself'," he pointed out with a sigh. "Just come and jog with me; it'll get your mind off--"

"No," Tucker snapped, turning away from the news on TV momentarily to glare tiredly at the other. Wash's shoulders slumped and his eyes turned sympathetic, which only intensified the glare in Tucker's own.

"Tucker, the wedding was two weeks ago."

At the word 'wedding', Tucker's chest felt hollow and he turned back around, holding his breath until he was sure that it wouldn't come out painfully labored. The same memory that'd been playing out in his head for the past twelve days returned like clockwork: Grif sneaking off early into the ceremony to get a head start at the reception buffet table, Simmons whispering harshly at him to 'sit his fat ass back down', Donut crying into an embroidered handkerchief that he'd made himself while Sarge pretended not to do the same, Caboose standing next to him and grinning like the sky turned into kittens because he was chosen as the best man, Tex with her small smile and tears of joy as she walked down the aisle while her group of friends whooped and cheered, he himself standing next to Caboose, hands fisted in his pockets until he couldn't feel them anymore --

And Church frozen stiff at the altar with a nervous but overjoyed grin on his face as his future wife walked towards him. 

Tucker felt sick to his stomach.

He had only stayed at the reception for two hours until he came up with an excuse to leave (" _Aw, damn, Caboose must've given me food poisoning or some shit! Sorry, dude, but as much as I'd love to barf all over your cake, I'd prefer to keep my testicles away from the wrath of the future bearer of your children._ "), and since then hadn't left the dark confines of his downtown apartment. There were about thirty-two unread messages on his cellphone's voicemail inbox, and the only one he responded to was the one from his son Junior asking if he was okay (he had lied and said 'yes'). 

A few people stopped by to check and see whether he was dead or not. Frank, or "Doc" as he liked be to called, came over at the request of Donut, claiming that the other wouldn't leave him alone until he was sure that he had tried to "cure him of his fever". Sarge and Simmons threatened to burn down his house if he didn't stop ignoring their calls and Tucker threatened to call the _real_ police if they didn't leave his front door alone. 

Those who knew the reason tried different methods. Kaikaina offered him a movie night and a quickie to get his spirits up, but when he didn't answer the door she pushed his favorite porn DVD through the mail slot with a note that said " _please call if you plan to do something stupid without me._ " Grif didn't bother knocking, knowing that if Tucker wanted to talk to anyone, he would, (" _Hey, man, it happens, but life goes on, you know? Besides, I'm the resident couch potato around here and you're making me look bad._ ") and that was the only time he showed up.

Caboose, who miraculously had a spare key to everyone's house, barged in one morning with a plate of burnt cookies and a bucket of KFC and put it on the kitchen counter, encouraging Tucker to leave his room and share it with him (before having a mild war with himself over whether or not he should give Tucker  _all_ of the cookies because if he was just going to let them sit on the table it would be "a shame because anyone who wasn't sad wouldn't waste  _cookies,_ that's just silly") and once he was gone Tucker came out of his bedroom to a cold bucket of fried chicken (or "friend chicken" with the "n" drawn in permanent marker just underneath) and a plate with one cookie left, the crumbs underneath spelling out " _sorry_ ". 

Okay, so Tucker was in love with his best friend. His very straight, very married to a psychobitch-who-wasn't-that-bad-once-you-stopped-trying-to-figure-her-out best friend. So what? His decision to bitch and moan about it in the privacy of his own home was his business and having Mr. Mom here telling him to go outside after leaving him god knows how many messages on his phone was disturbing his one man pity party.

"Fuck off, Wash," Tucker sighed in defeat, refusing to look at him. "Can't you see I want to be alone? Don't you have some kids to teach the art of 'kick ass' to with Carolina or something?" 

Wash pushed off from the couch and walked around, sitting on the floor and facing the television. Turning his head to look at Tucker, he leaned against the piece of furniture, lifting one knee and resting his arm on it.

“Tuesday's 'disarming someone day',” he said, “Connie agreed to cover for me while I came to see you.”

“Make sure to give her my stiffest of middle fingers,” Tucker grumbled unenthusiastically.

“Hey, we're only trying to help you, Tucker,” Wash snapped, eyes reprimanding. “We were sympathetic for the first week, but now you're letting him destroy you.”

Tucker growled in frustration, feeling a headache coming on. “The hell do you want from me, Wash?!” He shouted, standing up suddenly. The other was up in seconds, jaw tight and shoulders tense, ready to take a hit. Tucker grit his teeth, breathing sharply through his nose. The silence hung dangerously above them, begging to drop if Tucker so much as flicked Wash's nose. They stood like that for what seemed like ages, staring each other down and waiting for the first swing.

“You angry?” Wash finally said in a low tone, stern glare searching Tucker's eyes for a sign of an oncoming punch.

Tucker snorted, “No, I'm fucking happier than a forty year old virgin in a free strip club --- you'd know what that feels like.”

Wash paused and blinked rapidly as he processed the insult, sputtering, “Okay, _first_ of all, I'm _thirty-two,_ and _second_ of all--” He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tucker's smirk disappeared as he took a deep breath, and once the graying blond looked up, Tucker immediately regretted having said anything.

“Run with me or I'll tell Caboose that you _really_ want to go with him and Freckles to Donut's beach house next week,” he threatened, crossing his arms.

All thoughts of Church were momentarily replaced with bone chilling horror as Tucker's mind replayed flashbacks of a giant ass gray Doberman pinscher nearly tearing him a new one and a _really_ tight speedo disturbingly low on someone's hips all at once.

Tucker swallowed, invountarily shaking his head.

“But the beach house is on--”

Wash looked like he was thoroughly enjoying his future victory. “Yep.”

“And there'll be...”

“ _Everywhere._ ”

Tucker shuddered at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Wash drove a hard goddamn bargain. Sighing heavily and feeling like he was fifteen years old and being told off by one of his mother's various “Ms. Jenkins” all over again, he opened his eyes and chestnut brown met cold steel.

Never breaking eye contact, he picked up a towel thrown carelessly over the back of the couch and headed for the bathroom, turning around to flip him off.

Wash gave a small amused smile when the door slammed shut.

“Knew you'd see it my way, Lavernius.”

The smile only grew wider when Tucker's muffled ' _you're a dick_ ' filtered through the wall. 


	2. chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit longer than part one (by like, a couple thousand words;;), but that's just to speed up the story a little. i was a little afraid that it seemed kinda stagnant, aha. (also i know nothing about any kind of laws, but then again, the peeps here probably don't either) nothing too shippy yet but i'll get there don't worry. slow build up s'where it's at anyway. enjoy!

Running with Wash was a huge mistake. Tucker had made a huge fucking mistake.

He hadn't realized how out of shape he was until he tried not to sound out of breath after using the stairs in his apartment building when Wash insisted that the elevator was broken. It didn't help that it was hot as fuck outside, either. The guy could already feel sweat soaking through his shirt and dripping down his back. His long braids were probably beginning to frizz from the heavy humidity in the air, and he wasn't having any of that.

“Lying son of a bitch,” Tucker muttered to himself, a scowl growing on his lips.

“What was that?” Wash called back, turning his head slightly. “You want to run another block?”

“Forget it! It wasn't important!” Tucker quickly responded, inhaling sharply through his nose and speeding up to catch up to him.

The city was bustling with afternoon shoppers, groups of people gathering in front of shop windows and market stands, leaving little jogging room for the two men. Anyone with eyes could see that the place was a tourist town. Modern art sculptures reflecting the city's industrial past littered the walls of almost every building, brass gears and golden wheels spinning slowly in time with one another, intricate bridges connecting office buildings on opposite sides of the road hovering precariously over the uncaring population below. The city's pride and joy was its towering skyscraper, the Mother of Invention, near the city's biggest white sand beach, Valhalla.

Tucker could see it as he and Wash turned the corner and jogged in its direction. The mirror paneling that adorned it reflected the ocean and gave the illusion that one could swim in the sky. A giant crystal obelisk that changed from red to blue depending on the time of day was at its peak, shimmering in the summer sun and blinding potentially all of the local birds. It was where the mayor lived; rumor had it that he built it in memory of his dead wife but no one really knew. Dude liked to keep to himself. In any case, it was one of the most visited monuments in the country.

Tucker was almost sorry that the city had the unfortunate luck of being called “Blood Gulch.”

Still, he supposed that it fit the rest of the city that the tourists didn't give a shit about. Once one got past the weird ass art and commercial downtown area and into the inner parts of the city, Blood Gulch was pretty rough.

The culture was rich, with people of all kinds of origins flocking together in a mix of restaurants, antique shops and maybe a small museum or two, but with the overabundance of liquor stores, nightclubs, occasional gang fights and stripper bars (something Tucker was actually A-okay with), diversity was the last thing anyone cared about. The city was famed for its lush green periphery and beautiful metallic semi-periphery, but its core left a fucking lot to be desired.

By the time they ran at least three miles, it was the late afternoon, just nearing five-thirty. They had reached Alpha Beach and the sun beat down on them mercilessly as they crossed the street. People who had probably been there since morning were packing up their umbrellas and beach towels into several bags that they carried to their respective vehicles, but other than that there were still plenty of tourists enjoying the heat.

Not even seconds after they touched the sand had Tucker pulled off his shirt and collapsed onto the ground, turning his head so that he resisted the urge to suffocate himself.

“Oh my god, fuck this – Fuck this, I need a break,” he heaved, not even caring that the sand began to stick to him like another shirt itself.

Wash smirked from where he was hunched over, hands on his knees while catching his breath but notably less exhausted than Tucker was.

“Maybe running in ninety degree weather wasn't the greatest of my ideas,” he said.

“Holy shit, I fucking hate you,” Tucker groaned. “I'm gonna fucking die.”

The more fit of the two stood up straight, rolling his eyes.

“No you won't, you big baby,” he said, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. “You should stand up and stretch or else you'll be in the same position tomorrow whining about how sore you are.”

Tucker lifted a shaking middle finger and said, “That was the gayest thing you've ever said now go buy me some water, asshole, before you rid my kid of a father.”

Wash stared at him for a long time until he visibly gave up on trying to reason with him, seemingly not seeing Tucker's shirt and stepping on it on his way to one of the beach's store shacks. Squinting through the blinding sun, Tucker followed his darkened silhouette with his eyes until he couldn't take it anymore, closing them completely. He could feel his already dark brown skin turning to charcoal and cursed whatever instincts told him to fucking wear sweatpants in the middle of June.

He didn't understand what had compelled him to join Wash on this suicide run. Sure, the bastard had threatened him with Donut (which was enough to make anyone think twice), but had it been anyone else Tucker would have called their bluff and took his chances. Even before the run his bones had felt like lead, his mind was terrifyingly blank and his motivation levels were at negative zero -- getting off of the couch was about the hardest thing he'd done in days.

Voicing this out to Wash was absolutely something he wasn't going to do, so of course he went to the next best thing: cracking a joke and hoping he'd leave him the fuck alone. However, this plan backfired horribly in the sense that Wash had seen right through it, as he usually did. Ever since Tucker had met the guy at one of Tex's parties in college he hadn't been able to get him to follow his bullshit, and it still pissed him off.

 _'Why can't he just do what everyone else does and take my shit for what I say it is?'_ He thought, snapping out of his thoughts when something cold and heavy smacked him right in the nose. Clutching it tenderly, he sat up, groaning loudly and opening his eyes to look accusingly at the giant water bottle his friend had unceremoniously deposited on his face.

Wash finished taking a drink from his own, exhaling in relief once he swallowed and nodded at Tucker innocently.

“It's hot out, you should drink something,” he said.

“The fuck is your problem?! A heads up would have sufficed!” Tucker whined, pulling his hands away to check for blood and sighing when there was none.

“If you're not happy with the delivery, go get it yourself next time,” Wash retorted dryly, sitting down next to him on the sand and facing the ocean. A brief wind passed through but did as much to refresh the two as much as opening an oven door cools off whatever's cooking inside.

Tucker took a couple of swigs from his water bottle before pouring a bit over his head and grabbing his t-shirt, shaking off the sand that collected on it to use it as a neck pillow as he said, “Fuck you, I do enough delivering in my life as it is.”

Wash raised an eyebrow and said, “Speaking of which, you plan on going back to work?”

Tucker turned over so that he was facing him, barely avoiding a kid that ran past and kicked up sand onto his legs.

"Grif said there's a spot waiting for me if I do," he explained halfheartedly, not really eager to go back to serving pizza to people who'd never given him any tips. 

Wash looked mildly surprised, skin already turning red under the sun's rays.

"That was awfully generous of him," he said.

Tucker snorted, "Like hell it was -- I owe him all the money he potentially lost in those two weeks."

The other gave a dry laugh, shaking his head.

"That... makes more sense."

"I wonder if he knows that he's never gonna get it."

Wash shrugged, wiping his forehead with the water bottle. "The better question is, does he care?"

Tucker kept his eyes closed, putting one arm over them in an effort to get some kind of shade. "Grif's a persistent bastard when no one wants him to be."

"Like you, then." 

"Kiss my ass."

He tried to ignore the quiet laugh that followed, focusing on the sound of the waves hitting the shore among the white noise of the conversations of strangers scattered within the area.

After a moment of silence, Wash broke it. 

"Feel a little better?" He asked. 

"Does it fucking look like I feel better, Wash?" Tucker snapped, scowling when the other dodged the handful of sand he threw at him. "My  _balls_ are sweating, dude. Can't pick up chicks at the beach when you look like you haven't lifted a day in your life."

Wash raised an eyebrow at him. "You  _haven't_ lifted a day in your life."

Tucker lifted himself up onto his elbows indignantly. "How would you know if I had?"

Wash continued to stare at him and Tucker clicked his tongue. "Of course not -- There're only sweaty, ugly dudes at the gym and sorry if seeing that doesn't motivate me. Besides, everyone knows that cardio works better anyway, but who goes up to a hot person and is all, 'Hey baby, I did like, five hundred squats today.' Who  _does_ that?"

"I wouldn't put it past your list of techniques," Wash said with a smirk.

Tucker pointed at him accusingly, sitting up straight to rest his arms on his knees. "Like I'm gonna take dating advice from the guy who went out with the biggest fucker on the planet."

Wash froze, obviously caught. "Maine was," he began, now turning red from embarrassment. "Maine... doesn't count."

Tucker grinned slightly, lightly shoving at his shoulder. "Whatever, man. Guy probably could've squished your balls with a pinch of his fingers."

Wash brought his hands up to his face, covering it for a second to calm himself down before waving his hand and saying, "Alright, can we PLEASE stop talking about this."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "You're such a fucking hypocrite, pestering me about my shit when I can't even mention yours--"

Wash put his other hand down and glared at him, turning his body to face him. " _I_ didn't sulk in my apartment for two weeks after he and I went our separate ways."

"Well fucking good for you."

He sighed in exasperation, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing from his slight sunburn. "Look, Tucker, I'm not trying to antagonize you. I... Well,  _we,_ just want to help you move on, or at the very least cope."

Brown eyes darkened considerably. "Enough of that already," Tucker said. "I'm allowed to be fucking upset."

"Upset is when someone forgets your birthday and doesn't send you a card," Wash said, looking at him seriously. "What you had was a breakdown."

"Glad to know we got something in common, then," Tucker fired back before he could stop himself. "I learned from the expert." 

Hurt reflected in Wash's eyes for only a fraction of a second until it was replaced with disdain and anger.

"...fine," he said under his breath as he began to stand up. "If that's how you--"

"Wait!" Tucker quickly grabbed his calf to stop him, letting go when Wash turned his head to prevent causing a scene.

"Wash, wait. I'm sorry, okay?" He said, biting the inside of his cheek. "I'm just... fucking tired of everyone giving a shit but him." He fixed his gaze down at his run down sneakers, unable to lift it to meet Wash's eyes. "It fucking sucks."

Sitting down without a word, Wash stared out in front of him and his eyes reflected the ocean like the Valhalla tower, a storm cloud ready to rock the waters into a frenzy. Tucker could tell he was trying to think of something to say after his outburst. Tucker had broken an unspoken rule between them: he wouldn't mention the incident that had happened two years ago if Wash stopped telling him to confess to Church.

Granted, Tucker never meant to tell Wash about it, but at the time he was vulnerable, drunk off of his ass, and had had every single one of his come-ons rejected that night at the restaurant. It didn't help that that same night Church and Tex had announced their engagement. Tucker figured that he must've accidentally hit on Fate in his past life 'cause she sure as hell had it out for him. 

Wash had always used to insist that "Church would understand" or "at least let him down easy", but Tucker wasn't stupid. Dumb as hell, maybe, but not stupid. He knew Leonard well; he never let anyone "off easy". 

Finally after what felt like forever, Wash sighed, "...Do you think he left you any messages--"

"He didn't," Tucker cut in bitterly. "He's on his long ass honeymoon, remember? And lemme guess, no one bothered to bother the happy couple 'cause Tucker was having a shitty time. I mean, who would? S'not like anyone _else_ knows how fucking pathetic--"

"Tucker," Wash interrupted softly.

Tucker cleared his throat and realized that his voice had broken in the middle of his speech. He spared a glance at the other's knowing stare, absentmindedly screwing and unscrewing the cap of his now empty water bottle. 

Standing up and shaking what he could of the sand off of his body and his shirt, he silently pulled up Wash, avoiding looking at him directly. 

"Whatever... I just want to head home," he croaked, clearing his throat a second time and quickly wiping his eyes. 

Wash nodded, clapping him on the back, "If I don't see you outside tomorrow, though, we're doing this again and next time we'll sprint the way back." 

Tucker groaned audibly, trudging across the sand to get back to the sidewalk. "Yeah, yeah, alright. Just fucking warn me next time Satan decides to breathe all over the goddamn place."

Wash snorted in agreement, face and neck now entirely sunburned as he followed Tucker to the bus stop.

"Noted."

\--

Tucker decided that he really did not fucking want to run with Wash again until the sun ceased to exist, so the next morning he forced himself out of bed and took the bus to work. 

When he got off at the correct stop in front of the fairly large pizza joint and entered through the back door, Grif was waiting for him as promised.

"'Bout fucking time you showed up, slacker," he said, handing him an orange apron. 

Tucker flipped him off with a small smirk. "Eat a dick."

"I'm workin' on it,  _trust_ me." Grif tied his own around his back, an exaggerated, defeated look in his eyes.

"Simmons still giving you shit about the way you park?" Tucker inquired, stuffing his things into his locker as he changed into the uniform of an equally as orange t-shirt and black pants. 

"You have  _no_ idea," the larger man whined, hanging his head back. "It's like, at this point he's run out of tickets and has resorted to leaving me full, hard cover copies of the law."

The back door opened and one of the younger interns, Bitters, walked in, acknowledging the two with a tired sigh.

"You could always... you know... walk to work. It'd save you money and us having this conversation. Every day," he muttered, boredom and exasperation radiating in every fiber of his being. 

Grif snapped his fingers, giving him a warning look. "Can it, Bitters! You're already on thin ice for eating half a can of marinara sauce. Suggest some other nonsense and I'll be forced to take drastic measures, pal." 

Bitters only clicked his tongue in response, slamming his locker door shut and going through the swinging door to the kitchens. Tucker watched the banter with mild interest, shutting his own locker to follow Grif in the same direction.

"You gonna just let him act like that?"

Grif only sighed like a disappointed mother. "I don't know where I went wrong, Tucker. Don't know where I went wrong."

Once they hit the kitchens the familiar smell of raw dough, flour and hamburger meat amongst other things drifted to Tucker's nose. The walls were half white, half orange (and  _not_ gold) with  _real_ gold tiles for the floor and gray countertops. 'Grif's' was plastered in giant black cursive on the back wall with the business' slogan underneath,  _'Grif's! Where the pizza's better!'_ Tucker remembered that Grif originally wanted to put  _'Where sex doesn't even come close!'_ but had that idea rejected by the Neighborhood Watch for it being too inappropriate. The same wall had pictures frames with stuff like 'Employee of the Month' and 'Memorable customers' hanging under the sign.

To put it simply, the place was an eyesore, but worked like a well oiled machine. It was one of the busiest pizza joints of the inner city of Blood Gulch, but its owner sure as hell wasn't anything of the sort. Grif made sure to hire a considerable amount of people so that he wasn't obligated to do anything and it had surprisingly worked out well enough for him so far. He mostly sat in his office all day and stole one or two pizza slices with the most unusual toppings on them (his favorites were disgustingly Oreo and pineapple).

Still, a job was a job and if Tucker wanted to keep his apartment, he'd just have to do it. The morning and early afternoon were fairly uneventful until around two o'clock when the front door slammed open. Tucker stopped washing table number ten to look up, grimacing when he saw who it was. 

"Listen up you good for nothin' pizza gobblin' giblets! I'm here lookin' for Dexter Grif! Bring him out or face martial law!" Sarge shouted gruffly into the restaurant, receiving concerned and confused looks as his hand drifted dangerously to his gun holster. Simmons was just behind him, buttoning his police uniform up to the neck and straightening out his badge. 

"Sir, I'm afraid pulling out a gun on a citizen because of his lack of parallel parking skills is against regulation," he explained routinely as if he had to constantly remind his superior officer of this everyday (which he probably had). 

"Nonsense!" The old man insisted, eyes still scanning the premises. "The amount of times that disgrace of a restaurant owner has had the nerve to park on the sidewalk is easily punishable by death!" 

"No it isn't, sir."

"Quiet, Simmons!"

Grif stormed out of the kitchen, wondering who the hell was causing everyone to simultaneously stop working. "What the hell is going-- Oh, great, not you two again. Look, I already said that I'd pay your stupid fine after work, Simmons."

Sarge puffed out his chest triumphantly, marching towards his locked on target. "There ya are, you candy stuffed roasted marshmallow. Just how long did ya think you could avoid justice?" He grunted, staring the unimpressed Grif down.

Rolling his eyes, Grif crossed his arms and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sarge stepped back and shoved Simmons forward, who unceremoniously fell onto Grif and was then pushed back, struggling to catch his balance as he pulled out a notepad. Sarge nodded firmly at him. "Tell 'im, Simmons!"

Simmons sighed and turned towards Grif, reading off of his notepad, "It says here that you have at least twenty unpaid parking tickets, Grif."

"And?" Pushed Sarge, shoving his shoulder a second time as a signal to continue. 

"And," Simmons said louder, giving Sarge a miffed glance before looking back at Grif with slight sympathy. "And unless you can pay them all up front, we're going to have suspend your license." 

Grif sputtered incredulously, a look of utter confusion on his face. "What?! _Bullshit_ , I totally paid all of those fucking tickets!" 

Simmons tilted his head, shifting through his notes and then shaking it, showing it to the other. "Says here you didn't. All of these  _are_ from the car licensed in your name."

As Tucker watched the ridiculous scene unfold before him, he saw in the corner of his eye Kaikaina slowly sinking to hide underneath a table. He raised an eyebrow when she only shrugged and grinned nervously at him before beginning to  crawl towards the back door. 

Grif quickly caught her in the act. "Hey!" He shouted at her. "Don't you try to run from this, you lying whore! I told you not to touch my shit!"

Kaikaina stood up with a scandalized scoff, tossing her hands up in the air, "You're fucking _ratting me out_? Where's the sibling love, _Grif_?" 

"I'm not going down for any of your shit, Sister. Especially not in my own damn restaurant," he said, following Simmons as he led her out the front door toward the cop car parked ironically on the sidewalk outside. 

"Well I'm not going down either!" She yelled, yanking away from Simmons to make a mad dash down the street. 

"Sweet mother of Marilyn Manson!" Sarge exclaimed, running outside to get in the passenger seat. "Get in the car, Simmons! We've got ourselves a runner!" 

"Yes, sir!" Simmons said, getting in after him and turning on the sirens as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove wildly down the road after her. 

Grif ran to the front door to call out to his sister, "You go down for fucking anything!" before growling in frustration and pulling out his cellphone as he left to no doubt tell their mother what had happened.

The restaurant was dead silent for thirty seconds until conversation exploded among the customers, excited and amused chatter starting up as even the cooks back in the kitchens began working again. 

Tucker took that moment to go to the back and untie his apron to end his shift. He was sure that Grif wouldn't mind -- after all, he had more important shit to take care of now and frankly Tucker wouldn't care even if he did. That was enough excitement to last him a lifetime. 

Pulling on his light blue shirt and basketball shorts after taking off his uniform, he put on his IPOD and decided to jog back home to clear his head. Despite the awkward conversation he'd had with Wash the day before and the fact that his muscles were on fire, running had turned out to be an easy distraction from all things that had to do with a black haired, green eyed prick. 

After jogging about two blocks, Tucker's phone buzzed in his pocket and he slowed down to check it, freezing dead in his tracks when he saw the name.

_Church._

Tucker smacked his forehead, cursing his shitty timing, "Son of a--"

" _GET OUT OF THE WAY!_ " Someone screamed at him as he looked up, eyes widening when a dark gray and orange motorcycle barely clipped his hip with the side mirror. Clutching the inevitable bruise that was forming there now, Tucker growled and hissed in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at the motorcycle that had slowed down and stopped a few feet away.

"Fucking watch where you're going!" Tucker yelled at the rider as he stepped off and strode angrily towards him.

"Me?!" The rider shot back, yanking off his helmet to reveal an Asian (' _and fine as hell, god_ **_damn_** _,'_ ' Tucker added inwardly, feeling slightly self conscious about his own attire) freckled man with the most mesmerizing hazel eyes who looked none too happy. He was so pretty that Tucker almost forgot that the son of a bitch almost killed him, which was something that happened too much for his liking. " _I'm_ not the one walking in the middle of the road on his cellphone!"

Tucker scoffed, standing up straight to look him in the eye. "No, _you_ just decided to get as fucking close to the sidewalk as possible." 

The rider who could've been a part time model just gave a 'tch' and went back to his bike, running a hand over it like it was a small child that had almost scraped its knee.

He inspected it with a careful eye, shooting Tucker a sneer. "You better hope that there're no dents in this thing."

"Chill the fuck out, it's just a motorcycle!" He said, tossing his own hands in the air. 

"That I spent nearly eighty grand on!" Model rider yelled back. Tucker made a gesture that said, 'so fucking what'.

"Wow, that totally sounds like _not_ my fucking problem," he said. 

"Ugh," the rider said in disgust, shoving his helmet back on and revving up the motorcycle. "If there  _is_ anything, I'll find you. Believe that." 

Tucker gave a short sarcastic laugh, flipping him off as he rode by. "Oh, I'm so fucking scared!" He yelled after him, scowling as the other sped off and purposefully left a trail of dust behind him.

"Man, I've fucking  _had_ it with these assholes..." He muttered in annoyance to himself, wincing at the pain in his hip.

_'Speaking of assholes.'_

He then remembered why he got hit and quickly looked at his phone again, shoulders slumping in disappointment when he saw '1 missed call'.

It really just wasn't his day.  

 


	3. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaaat it totally hasn't been a year or anything pffff but YEAH. I edited the first two parts a little (nothing big, just Wash's age and few wonky sentences) but I AM still working on this, so there'll be updates that DON'T take a year to post now. i had to figure out where the story was going and i'm kinda excited! hope you guys like what i have in store!

Dexter Grif was not a jealous man. Jealousy took effort and concentration and he wasn't about that life. He preferred to accept things the way they were thrown at him and move on. He was 100% sure that his philosophy would easily prolong his life another fifty years, tops.

But as he watched Simmons fumble and turn cherry red at Kaikaina's blatant flirting, Grif couldn't help but feel cheated.

You see, he'd been trying to get the officer's attention, for what – two years now? And it seemed like the only time he could get Simmons to even breathe in the direction of a Grif is if that Grif was 5'9” and had the hips of a Brazilian supermodel and double D's (which Grif arguably had, too, if he did say so himself).

Still, it wasn't as if Simmons had much of a choice. Kaikaina had been in his custody more times than Grif bothered to count, and Grif was there to bail her out every time, but he didn't have much of a choice either– she really had no one else to do it for her. Tucker had done it, once, before his little “episode,” anyway, in some weak attempt to get laid. It worked of course, but once he figured out that Kaikaina frequented the BGPD often, he gave up.

Tex had even paid half of her bail once after she herself had managed to not get caught in the act with her, and Grif didn't even bother asking what the hell they'd been up to – he stopped questioning that a _long_ time ago. Sheila would usually pick her up, but she had long since gone on vacation to Mexico with her boyfriend Lopez, who was desperate to leave Blood Gulch from the moment he'd stepped on its soil.

Which, as always, left Grif.

He figured it was only appropriate. After all, it had always been him and Kaikaina anyway – who was he to break tradition? Calling his mother had been wishful thinking. He hadn't spoken to her in years, but every time, he'd dial the same number in hopes that maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the responsibility of being half brother, half parent for once. He was human, damn it. No one deserved to raise a girl like Kaikaina all by himself. He was sure that God or whatever was out to get him somehow.

Grif's moment of self pity was interrupted by a flustered yelp and a high pitched, “Help!” Putting down the food magazine he was filtering through, Grif looked up with disinterest as Kaikaina strode toward him, rubbing her wrists. Simmons followed close by with empty handcuffs, and at this point he was as red as his hair.

“You've _really_ got to learn to appreciate the right to remain silent,” Simmons said, shooting her an annoyed glare out of the corner of his eye.

“And _you've_ got to stop getting on my case all the time, _cop_ ,” Kaikaina said, sticking her tongue through the 'V' of her pointer and middle finger.

Simmons made a look of disgust and Grif regretfully got up from the comfort of his chair. After Kaikaina kept the gesture up for a good thirty seconds, he slapped her hand down, crossing his arms in a huff.

“How about you _both_ stop making me come down here all the damn time?” Grif said. “I've actually got a business to run without all this bullshit, you know.”

Simmons scoffed with an incredulous grin. “When the fuck do you _run_ anything?” He said. “We all know that all you ever do is sit on your ass in the back. Matthews runs that place more than you do – Hell, Tucker was _gone_ for two weeks and he still managed to do more in _one_ shift than you've done in _months_.”

“OK, first you accuse me of shit I didn't do – which, I _am_ gonna sue your crazy ass boss for eventually –” Grif started, pointing a finger at him accusingly, “and now you disrespect my business? In front of my _family_ , Simmons? You're really living up to your first name, _Dick_.”

“You're seriously demanding respect with Sister in the same sentence?” Simmons sputtered. “Are you kidding me?! Are you forgetting why you're here in the first place?!”

Grif put his hands up in false surrender. “Listen, I don't judge _your_ life choices –”

“All you ever do is judge my choices!”

“ – so how about you hop off of my sister's? Besides, she's never done anything that merits more than a fine – ”

“That's debatable,” Simmons and Kaikaina cut in. Simmons gave her an scornful pout and she grinned.

“ – and you just have it out for me, admit it!”

Simmons threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don't have time for this,” he said. “Take your sister and get out, Grif, before Sarge realizes you're here. You remember what happened last time I let her off the hook?”

Grif shuddered with his whole body and said, “I can still smell oranges. I couldn't get the smell outta my car for _weeks._ ”

Simmons nodded solemnly and put his hands on his hips, the various keys and other things on his utility belt jingling at the motion. “Exactly,” he said before turning around to head back down the hallway. “And seriously, pay that fine so I don't have to smell that disgusting pizza anymore!”

Grif cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back, “How about you stop ordering it then, asshole!” He waited until Simmons turned the corner to heave a sigh, standing in silence with Kaikaina for all of two seconds before she began humming and swinging on the balls of her feet.

“So...” She began, her hands clasped behind her as she inched towards the door. “When's your next paycheck?”

“Get in the goddamned car, Kai.”

Fuck it. He was gonna die young.

\--

“ _Fuck_ , Wash!”

“I told you to hold still.”

“Doesn't mean you have to force it and shit!”

“If I don't push, then it won't help, and we'll be here all day.”

“Are you sure you've done this before?”

“I've... done it enough times to know what I'm doing. For the most part.”

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Tucker, _move your thigh –_ ”

“Uh, can I come in, or will I be scarred for life?”

Tucker and Wash looked up as York emerged from behind the half open door with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand while the other covered his good eye. “I'd really rather not move this hand unless you've both got clothes on.”

Wash rolled his eyes and continued to wrap the ace bandage around Tucker's hip as he massaged the darkening bruise formed against his skin. “You wouldn't have to make that joke if Tucker just agreed to go see a doctor,” he said.

“Fuck that, you know how I feel about hospitals,” Tucker said. “The only rubber gloves I ever want to see are leather ones, and preferably on a hot chick.” He hissed in pain again and shifted from where he was sitting on the bed when Wash finished none too gently and got up from the floor.

It only took Tucker a half an hour after his dispute with “Moto-Dick,” as he was calling him now, to realize just how bad his hip hurt when the motorcycle clipped him. He'd shot a quick text to Wash and decided to stop by his place for a water break when Wash all but demanded to know why he was limping.

“I don't know, Tucker, I'm with Wash on this. That thing looks _nasty,_ ” York said, wincing as he lowered his hand and caught a glimpse.

Wash crossed his arms and stood next to his roommate. “He'll live,” he said derisively. “His stubbornness makes him immortal, apparently.”

“You're goddamned right,” Tucker said, the strain in his voice leaving much of the confidence he intended out as he stood. He pulled his shorts up from where they were lowered a fraction and shook each of his legs, testing how far he could move. He took a tentative step and gripped the bed post when he stumbled.

Wash shifted from one foot to the other, his teasing smirk fading as unsure concern took its place. “You sure you're good to go?”

“Yeah dude, just gimme a sec,” Tucker said, putting a hand up. “Asshole's bike wasn't even trying to slow down until _after_ he hit me.”

York frowned. “Did you manage to get a license plate number? Anything?”

“I was too busy yelling at the prick to check,” Tucker said.

York snorted and turned to walk towards the kitchen as Wash and Tucker followed. He propped himself on the counter and waved at them to take a seat near the island. “I remember the last time someone almost hit South – she took a brick and smashed the guy's back window before he even had time to blink.”

Tucker pulled an apple from the fruit bowl – Wash's choice, no doubt, the fucking health junkie – and took a bite. “Should've aimed for the guy's head if you ask me.”

“Oh trust me, she was definitely aiming for something,” Wash said.

York shook his head. “North was paying for the damage for _weeks._ South offered to help but if he wanted to play martyr who was she to stop him?”

“You'd never catch my ass paying for Moto-Dick's shitty motorcycle,” Tucker said, scoffing as he took another bite. Wash sighed and wiped a hand over his face, leaning back on his stool just enough to straighten out his back.

“Well, knowing this city, you'll probably be seeing him again eventually, but forget about that for right now and focus on that leg of yours,” he said, pausing momentarily. Then he frowned as a thought came into his head. “How convenient that you've been injured a day after I made you run.”

Tucker's eyes widened incredulously as he tossed his apple core at the trash and miraculously made it. York clapped.

“Yeah,” Tucker started, hitting the counter with palms, “because this is exactly what I wanted. A big ass bruise and a near-death experience. You've figured it out, Wash! Nothing gets past you!”

York snickered into his coffee mug and looked pointedly at Wash for a rebuttal. Wash stared right back at him, unimpressed.

“Don't encourage him,” he said, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Tucker. “I was just pointing out the timing, is all. Calm down.”

“Oh, I'm fucking calm!” Tucker snapped with a scowl on his face. “It's you trying to start shit over here, Mr. Skeptical.”

Wash was running out of patience and rubbed at his eyes. “Right, well, you're obviously still angry about the motorcycle, so if you want to be paranoid about what my words mean – ”

Tucker stood up with an annoyed smile. “O-ho, you of _all_ people saying that shit is _hilarious –_ ”

York finally stood between Tucker and the counter and held his hands out. “Girls, girls – you're both pretty. Chill out,” he said as he gently pushed Tucker back onto his stool. “And don't tell Carolina I said that, but seriously, Tucker, if you're not used to Wash being a total hypocrite by now, I suggest you catch up to the rest of us.”

Wash scoffed and threw his hands into the air. “Who's side are you on?!”

York shrugged and put his now empty coffee mug into the sink. He walked around the island to pat Wash's shoulder with a smile and said, “Aw, my bad. I'll try to tone it down on the cold hard truth next time, buddy.”

“You're so generous,” Wash muttered to his retreating back as York stepped into his room. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked back at Tucker who was now poking at his bruise with a grimace. Wash watched him prod and hiss for about twenty seconds until he glared at him.

“Tucker.”

Tucker whined, “I can't fucking help it, man. This shit _hurts_.”

“Stop touching it. You'll only make it worse,” Wash said with an annoyed sigh.

“Take his word for it, Tucker!” York called from down the hall. “He's had enough bruises to know!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tucker said with a small pout. Wash couldn't help but give him a sympathetic smile.

“So apart from the obvious, how was work?” He asked. Tucker shrugged.  
“Oh, you know. Same old shit. Bitters hates his job, Grif's fat, Kai continues to be hot and the bane of her brother's existence.”

Upon hearing the younger Grif's name, Wash seemed to age about ten years. Out of everyone, she irritated him the most, and Tucker couldn't blame him. Compared to Wash, who was pretty much as predictable as they came, Kai was a complicated girl, and that was putting it lightly (and generously).

“Ooo, I like her! She's the one who's always wearing clothes that don't match, right?” York said as he returned, buttoning up a new shirt. Tucker figured he was going on a date with Carolina later – she was the only one who could get him to look a step up from “stylish hobo.”

“She tried to invite Carolina to an orgy once,” York continued as he messed with his hair in the small mirror magnet on the fridge. “The look on her face has made it onto every Christmas card I've ever handed out.”

“And you've received a punch for every single one you've ever sent out,” Wash added with a smirk.

“Sometimes you gotta die for the comedy, brother,” York said, returning it. Then he straightened out and pointed at both of them, looking at Wash in particular. “I'll maybe be back later, maybe not if I get lucky. Don't wait up.”

Wash rolled his eyes, and got up from his seat, Tucker mimicking the action. As he led York to the door to close it behind him, Tucker headed to the living room. York and Wash's apartment wasn't anything too fancy – three bedrooms, a bathroom in two of them, one kitchen, one living room, but it was way bigger than Tucker's poor excuse of a living space. Tucker would kill for the TV set they'd set up in their room. Apart from the old Playstation 3 that lay forgotten to the side, most of the consoles were brand new, and so was the big flat screen TV. Wash had once offered to let Junior come and play their Wii U and Xbox, but he preferred actually playing real sports. Tucker figured he got that from his mother, C.B. After all, she was in the NWBA, so it was no wonder Junior was so good at basketball. Church had almost cracked at joke about how ironic it was until Tucker gave him a look and he shut his mouth. But he still showed Junior a few pointers whenever C.B. allowed him to visit. Tucker missed his kid. He hadn't seen him since...

He froze and swallowed the lump in his throat. With his thoughts distracting him, he'd almost had the luxury of forgetting. He sat himself down on the black leather couch before his legs gave out. With a shaking hand, Tucker reached for the phone in his pocket and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the outline of it through his baggy shorts. It seemed to have weighed a ton more than it did five minutes ago. Pulling it out slowly, he dared to look at the screen again. The brightness of it seared the 'Missed Call' notification that'd been nagging at the back of his head even more.

Despite every fiber of his being telling him not to, Tucker knew he'd have to call Church back. He'd never fucking hear the end of it otherwise, and he was disgusted at how some small part of him wanted that attention – would _welcome_ it, even. But even Tucker had an ounce of self respect sometimes. It was already surprising enough that Church hadn't already whined at him with at least five texts about it yet.

 _He's probably preoccupied._ Tucker pressed the edge of the phone hard against his forehead. _Don't be a dick, Tucker. Keep him happy on his honeymoon. Keep him happy, keep him happy, keep him_ _ **happy**_ _._

He forced himself to remember this as he inhaled a shaky breath and hit the 'call' button. Holding it up to his ear, with each ring his heart added more beats to its rhythm. Tucker tried to focus on breathing. _In, out, in, out –_

The line clicked and Tucker's eyes snapped open.

_“Bout time you called back, asshole.”_

_In, in, in –_

Tucker sat up straight and forced a smile despite not having an audience.

“You know me, Church,” he started, casual. “I always play hard to get. What's up?”

Tucker tried to ignore how the dismissive snort that came from the other line both set his heart on fire and extinguished it in a suffocating vacuum in the span of three seconds. _In, in, in –_

 _“Yeah, well, let me know when that technique actually works on someone who cares,”_ Church said in his usual tone of snark. Tucker could feel his stomach twist into a knot tighter than his lungs were getting. _In, in, fucking **breathe** – _

“Whatever, prick,” Tucker retorted skillfully, hardened after years of practice. He rubbed the indent on his forehead from where he'd put the phone. “Has Tex finally come to her senses and ditched your ass yet?”

A new voice cut in. _“With how much of a baby he's being about the beach, I'm considering it.”_

As Church protested about 'sharks and other electric shit' that dwelled in the Great Barrier Reef, Tucker finally exhaled a mock offended laugh.

“What the hell, dude? The fuck – you have me on _speaker_?”

The argument that continued on the other line would've been muffled had it been anyone other than Church.

_“ – And I'm not getting my ass bitten off, alright? You can go ahead and get your face torn off but I'll have no part in it – ”_

Church's voice got further away as Tex's came closer.

She sighed and Tucker could imagine her rolling her eyes. _“Yes, Tucker, he put you on speaker.”_

She sounded tired, but in a good and amused kind of way. Like an “I'm-so-in-love-with-this-asshole-but-Jesus-make-him-stop” kind of way. He knew the feeling all too well.

And there it was, the thing he'd been dreading the entire conversation. The jealousy shacking up with the apple in his stomach made it so hard to concentrate that he barely noticed Wash take a seat next to him on the couch.

“How's the honeymoon going, Tex?” Tucker finally managed. He didn't need to turn his head to see the look of pity on Wash's face as the words came out of his mouth. Tucker was trying to focus on the finger smudge on the bottom left hand corner of the TV where the buttons were. And not passing out.

 _“Church doesn't want to go snorkeling with me and has been pissy about it all day because he knows his ass is going whether he likes it not,”_ Tex answered coolly. If she'd heard anything waver in Tucker's voice, she didn't make any sign of knowing.

_“Like HELL I am – ”_

Tucker couldn't help but crack a small smile at the familiar indignant outcry. The couple squabbled on the other end until Tex spoke up again.

_“Church is bitching, what else is new. What about you? Been keeping yourself busy?”_

Getting flashbacks to days without showering or eating, and hours of he genuinely feeling sorry for himself for an unhealthy amount of time wasn't on Tucker's A-list of things to do when he was nearing a breakdown. He racked his brain for something, _anything_ else. Shit, what had he done since they'd been gone? Come on, come _on –_

Wash opened his mouth to say something at Tucker's increasing distress but Tucker shook his head.

Wait.

Tucker looked at Wash and raised an eyebrow with a weak smirk. _Of course._

“You mean apart from the fact that Wash has found a new way to torture me by waking me up at ungodly hours to work my calves? Then yeah, super fucking busy. It's fucking hell.”

_Out, in, out..._

Church sounded surprised as his voice came back into the speaker. They were probably sitting (or laying) side by side. Tucker tried not to imagine either one.

 _“Really?”_ Tucker could cut Church's disbelief with a knife. _“He really got you to get off your ass and make something of yourself? Who knew the guy was a miracle worker?”_ His tone was teasing and for once Tucker felt that spark again. That annoying ass grin, a flash of green eyes, rough fingers –

Tucker focused his attention back on the smudge.

“Yeah, yeah, dickhead, laugh it up. Meanwhile, I'll be over here getting swole as fuck while your lanky ass gets winded after after you get your dick up.”

 _“Fuck off, Tucker._ ”

“Prick.”

_“Loser.”_

“Nerd.”

Church snorted and the line was comfortably silent. Tucker could almost imagine them back in their dorm, drunk as shit just as the lights went out, the inevitable hangovers they'd get in the morning nowhere in their minds as they rested. Back before he fucked up.

 _Back before a lot of things._ Tucker thought. There was movement and shuffling, and Church was back on the line. The speakerphone was turned off and Tucker could hear a door shut in the background as Tex left the room to do whatever Tex did when she left a room.

 _“So everything's okay over there?”_ Church said eventually. _“Caboose hasn't burned anything down yet?_ ”

“Not that I know or care about,” Tucker replied, not even wanting to know what the guy's kitchen looked like after “friend” chicken and cookies.

_“You doing alright, too? I mean, not that I'm complaining – ”_

“'Cause you _never_ do that – ”

 _“Shut up. But yeah, two weeks of nothing, man? Makes me think that you've got a life over there, Tucker,”_ Church said with a snort. “ _You know we can't have that.”_

Tucker didn't know how much more he could take of this.

 _In in in_ _**in in** _ _–_

“I'm totally fine, dude,” he breathed, cursing himself. He cleared his throat. “My phone's been a piece of shit lately and I haven't gotten it fixed yet – ” ( _Liar.)_ “Just focus on banging your wife and worry about the rest of later, smartass.”

Church laughed once and said, _“Please, if anything, Tex'll get me killed out here, swimming with sharks and shit.”_

It was quiet again. _In in in i n_

_“But yeah, I'll call you when I get back. See ya later buddy.”_

“Peace out, Church.”

The line went dead.

_Out._

Tucker kept the phone to his ear for a good ten seconds, letting the drone of the dial tone block out whatever bullshit his mind wanted him to think. A hand gently lowering itself onto his shoulder brought Tucker's eyes and mind back into focus and he remembered Wash.

“Are you okay?” Wash asked softly. “That can't have been easy.”

There was concern in his voice, but also empathy, the calm apprehension in his expression telling Tucker that he wouldn't push it if he didn't want him to.

Tucker took in deep breaths like he'd been underwater for hours and rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm totally fine, don't worry about it,” he mumbled, pressing his fingers into his eyes. They were dry but felt heavy, tired.

Wash leaned forward on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Do you need anything – ”

“Wash,” Tucker said impatiently, both his hands reaching around to massage the back of his neck. He leaned his head towards his knees and his voice came out muffled against them. “Just.. Give me a minute, okay?”

Wash nodded with a sigh. “Right. Sorry.”

_In, out, in, out, in –_

Even though Tucker stayed quiet, Wash started fidgeting.

“Mind turning on the TV?” Tucker asked after Wash's leg began to bounce. Wash quickly stopped and reached for the remote, pushing the power button.

As the TV came to life, Tucker slowly lifted his eyes to the screen. It had been left on the news which was currently reporting on the rise of gang activity and break-ins, which, for Blood Gulch, wasn't anything new. Wash stared at the screen with a faraway look as the newscaster started talking about an explosion at Museum of Ancient Artifacts, and Tucker nudged his arm.

“You alright?” He asked, clearing his throat when his voice wouldn't go above a whisper. He hoped he wasn't getting sick or some shit – that'd just take the cake for the amount of bullshit he'd been going through.

Wash snapped out of his trance and changed the channel to some random cooking show.

“Yeah, yeah. I just zoned out for a bit. Thinking about work,” he said casually.

“Shocker,” Tucker snorted. He watched the screen for a little bit. Then something York said hit him.

“Exactly how many times has York walked in on you?”

Wash looked like he swallowed a lemon. “Don't start, Tucker.”

\--

York eased out of his jacket as he walked through the doors of M.O.I., checking his watch obsessively. He was late already, but for every extra minute he added to the clock, Carolina was going to shove _at least_ twelve times the equivalent in needles up his ass. He pushed the “up” button on the elevator and crossed his arms, tapping his foot as the number above the door counted down from 56.

“You've got to be kidding me,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to be on the 87 th  floor, so taking the stairs was absolutely out of the question. As he debated on whether or not to call Carolina to tell her he was on his way, a man walked up next to him.

“You gotta love these skyscrapers and their ability to run as slow as shit when you're in a hurry,” he said with a hint of cynical empathy.

“Yeah, no kidding,” York muttered from behind his hand before turning to look at him. He was slightly shorter than York, but carried himself like he was 10ft tall. Where his eyebrow was raised was a piercing, and he wore only a black muscle shirt with a skull on it along with some baggy jeans, which contrasted highly to York's professional dress shirt. Simply put, he looked like he belonged more on the cover of a fashion magazine than a building like this one. _Must be some diplomat's kid or something._ York thought. The look in his eye screamed “troubled rich kid.”

As York sized him up, the elevator dinged and he gave the guy a tight smile before stepping inside along with him. He pressed the button for the 87 th  floor and when all the other guy did was lean against the elevator railings and cross his arms as the doors shut, York looked over his shoulder.

“What floor?” He asked, hand hovering over the buttons expectantly.

The guy gave him a lazy smirk. “Look's like we're going to the same place,” he said.

He must've noticed how York tensed up because his smirk only grew wider.

 _Well. No wonder the guy looked so out of place._ Hands dropping to his sides, York backed up against the elevator wall next to him, eyes trained on the floor numbers. The only people allowed on floors above the 57  th  mark weren't just regular employees. He knew because he was one of the ones with restricted access, and he knew all of the _other_ people with restricted access, but he'd never seen this guy before in his life. Which could only mean...

His thoughts were interrupted as the elevator stopped on floor 36. The doors opened and a guy that was _definitely_ taller than York stepped inside, all square shoulders and imposing attitude. Unlike the guy next to him, he was donned in a full business suit. He spared York a glance before turning to look at the other who only gave him a grin.

“Well, well, well. Look who made it,” he said, only making the new arrival frown.

“You're late, Felix,” he said in voice so low it made York's chest vibrate.

Felix shrugged. “Some idiot almost wrecked my bike, whatever. It's not like the guy's gonna care as long as we show up. What's your excuse, huh Locus? I don't see you next to the boss man.”

The man named “Locus” only turned around. “I arrived an hour ago. Not everyone was present for the meeting yet so he allowed me to – ”

York held a hand up. “Wait, you guys are going to the meeting?” He cut in. He immediately regretted it. It was almost as if they'd forgotten he was in the elevator with them. Their gazes were sharp, one cold and the other calculating. It was like being cornered by a panther and a really angry mountain lion. York had _seen_ a panther and a mountain lion and he _still_ never felt more hunted than he did at that moment.

Finally Felix's cold stare was replaced by an amiable smile that now felt as fake as York's prosthetic eye.

“I guess we'll find out soon, now won't we?” He said. York narrowed his eyes and the elevator finally arrived at the 87 th  floor. Felix gave him one more once over before following close behind Locus down the metallic corridor. York was almost tempted to follow them but they were headed straight when he needed to go left. He checked his watch again and cursed, speed walking down the hall. As soon as he walked into the observation room, Carolina immediately turned on him and York took it back. _Now_ he felt more hunted than ever.

“What the hell took you so long – you were supposed to be here _thirty minutes_ ago,” Carolina hissed as she snatched away his jacket and hung it onto one of the hooks in the wall. York held his hands up in surrender.

“And I would have! But Tucker dropped by unexpectedly after he almost got hit with a motorcycle or something – ”

At this Carolina's glare lessened a fraction. “What? Is he okay? Why didn't he go to the – ”

York shook his head and rolled up his sleeves. “That's what Wash said, but he's fine so let's get going, yeah? Has the Chairman showed up yet?”

“Indeed he has, Agent York.”

York's mouth snapped shut. He immediately stood at attention in unison with Carolina as the Director stood up from his desk that was across the room next to the giant window that overlooked the training grounds. A door next to him opened and in walked Felix and Locus along with Malcolm Hargrove, one of Director Church's prominent business partners for weapons and technology. Felix gave York a short two fingered wave with a smirk and York could see Carolina looking at him questioningly through the corner of her eye.

“Have all of your necessary employees arrived, Director? Or shall you keep me waiting even further?” Hargrove said, not so subtly giving York a once over. York decided that he fucking hated that.

“Calm down, Chairman, we have everyone we need,” the Director brushed him off as he always did, walking around his desk to face the Chairman, his hands behind his back. Felix and Locus stood over by the wall and even though Locus looked more like a bodyguard, York still couldn't figure out what Felix's role was.

Hargrove 'hmph'ed and walked over to the observation window. The lights were on but York knew that everyone had left for the day. The Director had allowed them to leave early, and now he knew why. It was no secret that the Chairman wanted what the Director was working on, and with a guy like Felix working with him, York was glad that Hargrove didn't know exactly what that was yet. They all gave him the creeps.

“This building is truly marvelous up close, Director, but I must inquire – what is the meaning of this room in particular?” The Chairman asked, eyes locked onto the training room below. The Director didn't hesitate in his answer.

“It's where our top agents train for their reconnaissance missions, Chairman. We've spoken about this before,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

The Chairman didn't look pleased by this answer. “We've also spoken about a deal.”

The Director was quiet for a moment. Then he walked over to his desk and pushed a button on the telephone.

“Are you there, Agent Texas?”

York could feel Carolina's expression tighten as the name was spoken.

 _“I am,”_ Tex said from the other line.

“So terribly sorry to interrupt you on your honeymoon, but the Chairman here would like a status report on the Omega,” the Director said, eyes never leaving the red LED light that meant the connection between him and his agent. York shifted uncomfortably and Felix shot him a look.

 _“It's not an issue, Director. I haven't forgotten who paid for the trip,”_ she said. _“Nor the real reason why I'm here. They've got an underwater base, sir.”_

Locus and Felix looked more interested than they had during the entire meeting, switching between Hargrove and the phone. The Director pretended not to notice.

“Have you secured a time for reconnaissance, Agent Texas?” The Director asked. Carolina's knuckles were white behind her back with how hard she was gripping one wrist.

 _“I have, sir. A full report will be delivered by midnight, guaranteed,”_ Tex responded.

The Director smirked but it was a 'blink and you'll miss it.' “That's what I like to hear,” he said. “That's all. Enjoy your vacation, Agent Texas.”

 _“Thank you, sir.”_ Then the line went dead.

The Director lifted his finger from the button and stared back at Hargrove, blank faced and stern.

“Does that answer your question about our deal, Chairman?” He said. Hargrove chuckled and headed towards York and Carolina.

“I expect that report on my desk not a minute later than 12 o'clock, Director,” he said. He turned towards Felix and Locus and motioned for them to follow him. They obeyed (although Locus was faster to move than Felix) and ignored the two soldiers despite Hargrove's nod to them. Then they were gone.

“At ease,” the Director ordered, and York finally relaxed his shoulders, rolling one of them.

 _Took him long enough._ He thought bitterly, glancing over at Carolina. She didn't look as pleased as Hargrove did.

“Is that why you sent her to Australia, sir? The Omega?” She asked, even though it came out more like a command. The Director was facing the observation room, mirroring the Chairman in everything but voice.

“You're ability to listen impresses me, Agent Carolina,” he said. York pretended to not see her flinch. “Yes. I did. Her marriage to Leonard was the perfect opportunity to investigate the boy's location.”

Carolina bristled. “With all due respect, sir, I would have liked to have been informed of this – ”

He cut her off. “It was top secret, Carolina. On a need-to-know basis only.”

She snorted, and York held his breath for what was going to come. “I think I'd be on that list since she's part of my squad – ”

“No, you are not. You are dismissed,” said the Director with a finality.

“But sir – ”

“ _Dismissed_ , Carolina. I won't tell you again.”

Carolina breathed through her nose and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

York made sure to follow her through the door in case she slammed it in her rage, and looked over his shoulder as the Director continued to stare down into the vacant room with a hungry eye.

He shut the door behind him. _Definitely creepy._

 


End file.
